


caught in a landslide (no escape from reality)

by espetrell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (old person voice) it's been 6000 years..., Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, shameless fluff, two idiots finally tell each other how they feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 10:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19788832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espetrell/pseuds/espetrell
Summary: Aziraphale has been secretly keeping diaries for the past couple centuries. One day, Crowley reads them.





	caught in a landslide (no escape from reality)

It started innocently enough. Aziraphale and Crowley were lounging around in the bookshop, talking about nothing in particular, when Crowley jerked his head to indicate a particular bookshelf and asked, "What's in that one?"

"What?"

"What sort of books. Poetry, biographies, or what? It's all jumbled together."

It was this mixed assortment of books that had caught Crowley's eye. Sheets of yellowed parchment, thick leather volumes, and crisp new spines were all lined up side-by-side.

"Oh. Um. Nothing you'd care about."

" _Really._ " Crowley shifted forward to examine Aziraphale closely. They had known each other for so long that Aziraphale's carefully-manufactured air of nonchalance completely failed to fool Crowley. Aziraphale made a show of calmly sipping his tea while his eyes darted between the shelf and Crowley, trying to put together a response. Crowley simply watched and waited.

Finally, Aziraphale set his teacup down on the saucer, a little too harshly, the china clinking together loudly. He let out a sharp sigh. "Diaries, Crowley."

"Oh." Crowley relaxed back against the back of the couch, mildly disappointed. He'd been hoping for something salacious, worthy of Aziraphale's reluctance to disclose their contents. Diaries didn't really seem worth the fuss. Unless…

"Wait," asked Crowley, " _Whose_ diaries?"

Aziraphale fiddled nervously with a teaspoon. "If you must know… mine."

Crowley had to admit, he was impressed. Some of these diaries were clearly hundreds of years old, and Aziraphale had never let on that he was keeping them. Intrigued, he pressed on.

"What do you need to keep a diary for? You're an angel, it's not like you're going to _forget_ anything."

"Well, it was Samuel Pepys who gave me the idea. I was speaking to him right after the Great Fire of London—"

"—Ugh," interjected Crowley. Pepys didn't ring a bell, but he remembered the fire all too clearly.

Aziraphale continued, ignoring the interruption. "Anyhow, he'd been writing this account of everything in his life, and he told me, 'It's nice to go back through these, and get a clearer picture of what things were like, back in my younger days.' It's a nice sentiment, so I— Crowley, no."

Crowley paused, his hand halfway to the shelf. He gave Aziraphale a teasing grin. "What, you won't let me take a peek?"

"No."

Crowley laid a finger on the spine of a dark red journal, just to see Aziraphale's frown deepen.

"I told you, Crowley, _no_."

"Aww, you're no fun." Crowley gave an exaggerated shrug and flung himself back onto the couch. "Pour me more of that cocoa, won't you, angel?"

Several weeks passed, long enough for Crowley to hope that Aziraphale had forgotten all about the diary conversation. Aziraphale was out of London, currently visiting Leeds for a couple of miracles as well as a small temptation, for Crowley's sake. Crowley had cashed in this favor, telling Aziraphale that he had some business that would be keeping him in London. It hadn't been a lie, per se. It was just that the "business" Crowley had planned involved sneaking into Aziraphale's shop while he was away.

Crowley had never asked, but reading someone else's diary was certainly a diabolical enough act to be approved of by his superiors. It was a betrayal of trust, gave him information that could give him the upper hand against the author, and was rather pointlessly petty. Perfectly devilish.

So why did Crowley feel so nervous about pulling one of Aziraphale's diaries off the shelf?

Crowley had _been_ there for all the history that Aziraphale had recorded. Except for a good chunk of the 19th century, and he supposed this could be a fine opportunity to catch up on what he'd missed. Nothing in these diaries was going to _surprise_ him… or would it?

What Crowley kept coming back to was that there was no way Aziraphale's diary wouldn't mention _him_. And despite himself, when he imagined what Aziraphale might write about him when he thought no one was looking, he felt a twisting sensation in his stomach that he couldn't will away. Either Aziraphale was writing bad things about him, which was understandable but disappointing, or he was writing _good_ things about him, which was somehow worse.

But Aziraphale wouldn't be in Leeds all that long. If Crowley wanted to act, he'd have to act now. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blindly grabbed a diary off the shelf. When Aziraphale did not suddenly appear to smite him to kingdom come, Crowley opened the diary up to a random page. Yes, this was unmistakably Aziraphale's handwriting, and it said:

_September 14, 1913_

_Already starting to get chilly outside. That means less customers, thankfully. One did come in asking for a copy of_ Tarzan of the Apes _, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Really! BURROUGHS! As if I'd stock such pulpy nonsense._

_I've also discovered a new bakery just around the corner. Marie, the owner, is such a sweet lady, and her croissants are divine. I'll have to bring Crowley to it sometime._

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. This entry was not what he was hoping for. He replaced the book, pulled out another, and tried again.

_June 30, 1969_

_I haven't had much chance to write, with all the commotion going on here. I've found it hard to pull myself away from Stonewall, and have been basking in the joyous defiance I can see in in these good fellows' faces. Allen even came by! Called them all "beautiful," and I had to agree with him. When I think about how many people think our side doesn't approve of people loving each other, just because those people happen to be the same gender, it makes me wish I had my flaming sword back._

_I really hope Upstairs doesn't hear about the police officer I hit in the face with a brick. I can't say I feel any regret, after what he did to poor Sylvia, but it'd be difficult to explain._

Crowley let out a loud barking laugh that he quickly stifled. Aziraphale wasn't here, he _knew_ that, but he still felt the need to stay quiet, like a kid staying up past his bedtime, reading a book under the covers with a flashlight. He flipped forward a few pages, and froze.

This page was different. The writing was shaky, there were words crossed out, and the paper itself was warped and rippling in places, almost as if… tears had fallen onto the page?

_It's ~~dam~~ stupid. It shouldn't have mattered. It's just the way he SAID it. I was telling him about the ~~roi~~ riots, and he said, "The things humans do for love. Not like you'd know ~~a damn~~ anything about it." And he ~~was jo~~ PROBABLY was just joking, but it still HURT. _

_Maybe I've just been imagining it. The way he smiles at me sometimes, when he forgets to be sarcastic. The way he says "Aziraphale" like every syllable is something precious. Maybe that's not the way he means it._

_What if the humans are right? And ~~God~~ our side really DOES care?_

_But even if not, they certainly care about him being a demon. They've turned a blind eye to our Arrangement, but if they found out ~~how I feel~~ how much I would do for him, if he asked…_

_I want to tell him, but I can't, I can't. I don't want to – what's the term? – "lead him on." If there's even a chance that this would be the final straw, the thing that Heaven decides is unforgiveable, I can't risk losing him._

_God help me, but I love you, Crowley._

Crowley had gone very still. He'd long ago forgotten to blink, but he suddenly found himself blinking rapidly, as his eyes started to sting with oncoming tears. He had also forgotten to pay any attention to the room around him. When a hand came down from above him and gently lifted the diary out of his lap, Crowley let out a shocked squeak and sprung to his feet.

Aziraphale stood there, scanning the page, reading what Crowley had just read. He pursed his lips and looked into Crowley's eyes with a tired disappointment. It was worse than anything he could have said. Crowley opened his mouth, realized he didn't have any idea of what he could say, and closed it again. Eventually, Aziraphale was the one to break the icy silence.

"Crowley. I should have known."

Crowley had been wrong. This was, in fact, worse than the silence. Even though he still didn't have anything to say, he started speaking anyway.

"A _-zi-_ raphale—" And here he stopped. Aziraphale was a good writer. He'd been exactly right about how Crowley said his name. Crowley took a deep breath and made another try.

"Aziraphale. You… You're not stupid."

Aziraphale let out a soft laugh that managed to not sound happy in the least. "Come on—"

" _I'm_ stupid."

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. He straightened up, setting down the diary. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm stupid, because I thought— well, I _hoped_ you hadn't noticed. Because if you knew what I thought of you, you'd… I dunno, you'd never want to talk to me again. Or you'd think it was some sort of trick, some temptation I was trying. Or you'd smile, and pat me on the arm, and tell me you valued our friendship very much but no thank you. And that w-would have been fine!"

Crowley realized in horror that his voice had started to shake. But now that he'd started speaking, he found that the words were rushing out too quickly to stop. He clenched his fists, fingernails digging into his palms.

"It would've been _fine_ , because you would've been _happy_! I was keeping my feelings to myself so you wouldn't be burdened with my… my stupid fantasies! But if all I've been doing is making you more miserable, then what was it all _for?_ "

"Crowley…" And there it was, the gentle tone, the careful comforting hand reaching towards Crowley's arm. Crowley automatically flinched away, backing himself into the bookcase.

"Because I never thought you really… I never thought you wanted…"

"Crowley." Aziraphale hesitated, picking the diary back up, turning it over in his hands. "You've never made me miserable."

"Haven't I?" Crowley asked, anxiety pulling his voice into an abnormally high register. "I can think of lots of times—"

"You've made frustrated, even angry, but never _miserable_. If anyone's made me miserable, it was myself, or…" Aziraphale briefly shot his gaze Upwards. "The only time that comes close is when you slept through the entire 19th century, and that's because I missed you so terribly. The truth is… The- the truth is— oh, I'm a _coward_ , Crowley."

"A coward!?" An image jumped into Crowley's mind of Aziraphale standing in front of Satan himself, holding a flaming sword, unflinching in the face of certain defeat. "Angel, _please_."

"I am!" Aziraphale protested. "I've spent all these years fretting myself silly about Heaven finding out, when I should have just said – and excuse my language – to Hell with Heaven."

" _An_ -gel!" Crowley was, despite himself, a little bit scandalized. Aziraphale continued:

"But I've been so _scared!_ This… this _thing_ we have between us means more than anything to me, and I couldn't bear to ruin it by—"

"I love you."

Aziraphale's frantic pacing ground to a halt. Crowley gave him a smile that was only slightly shaky.

"There. I said it. So now you don't have to be the first one to say it. You're welcome."

Aziraphale let out a long shaky breath, and shook his head with the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Oh, Crowley."

"And hey! It's been about ten seconds, and no divine bolt of lighting has stricken me down! No demon's come up to drag me back to Hell for a disciplinary meeting on workplace relationships!"

"Crowley, please." But now Aziraphale's smile was wider, and his movements lost their nervous energy. He stopped his pacing, turned decisively, and started walking back towards Crowley.

"And if some angel does come down to tell you off for the unforgiveable sin of loving someone, then they'll have to get through me first—"

Crowley's words were suddenly muffled by Aziraphale's lips, as he lunged forward to give Crowley a kiss. Conveying six thousand years of love and longing in one kiss wasn't an easy task, but Aziraphale managed it. When they finally broke apart, Crowley looked into Aziraphale's face, and saw there for the first time a completely undisguised, unabashed love that made his heart forget to beat.

"I love you, Crowley."

Aziraphale paused for a second, looking up at the ceiling of his bookshop, as if waiting for a response from God. Then he looked back into Crowley's eyes with a cheeky grin.

"Hmm. You think I would have felt it if I'd Fallen, right?"

"I— Yes! Obviously! Don't even joke—"

"Well, that's alright, then." And Aziraphale leaned back in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been literally 5 years since I wrote any fanfic, but the Good Omens TV show gave me so many feelings that I couldn't resist. I don't know how good this is, but I need to post it already so I stop fiddling with it, so hope you enjoyed reading it! The fic can be read as either book canon or TV canon, whatever floats your boat. Fic title from Queen lyrics, because of course.
> 
> As for the historical references:
> 
> 1) Samuel Pepys wrote one of the first modern diaries, writing both about historical events like the English Civil War and the Great Fire of London, as well as more personal affairs. The Great Fire of London, which happened in 1666, was as bad as you would assume, with a name like that.
> 
> 2) The Stonewall Riots began on June 28, 1969 and lasted for a couple days after. The Sylvia that Aziraphale mentions is Sylvia Rivera, a gay and trans rights activist, as well as an all-around badass drag queen. Allen Ginsburg, the Beat poet famous for writing Howl, visited Stonewall on day 2 of the riots. He's quoted as saying, "You know, the guys there were so beautiful—they've lost that wounded look that f*gs all had 10 years ago."


End file.
